Sep. 12: Not a fan of the goodbyes

I recently found out that one of my friends is moving away. Far away. Like, Alaska-far away. Actually, that’s exactly how far away: she’s moving to Alaska.

When friends move away, it makes life super-suck. I will definitely miss Jenn K, but Dina, Jenn K’s BFF, will be feelings aaaaall the feels. I know this, because my BFF moved a couple years ago. I consider myself kind of a pro at knowing what it feels like to say “smell ya later” to someone you love so much. I’m not saying I know how best to deal with it; I’m saying I’ve been there.

So, in the hopes of helping anyone else who’s been cruelly abandoned (oh! the drama!) by their best friend, I offer these pointers on handling this un-fun change in your life. Please note that this only applies to friends you’re losing because you’re no longer in the same geographical area, not the ones you’ve lost because one of you chose to dump the other; in that case, at least one of you is an asshole. You should probably work on that.

1. If you and your BFF currently communicate via text/email/phone calls, keep doing that, and try to do it every day. If you go more than a few days without communicating, it’s hard to catch up again. I’m not suggesting the friendship is irreparable if you miss a day of texting, but it’s a habit that really needs to continue if you want to stay close.
2. Text each other the stupid stuff that no one else will understand. The little things, y’know? Complain about the weather, traffic, a mutual enemy, whatever. Making each other smile connects you. It’s good.
3. Plan a visit. You go there, she comes back to you, something. Put a date on the calendar, no matter how far away it might be, because it gives you a goal that feels reachable. Tell yourself, “If I can just stop crying until I see her again, maybe my family won’t hate me for eating dinner without them every night.” BECAUSE OH YES, YOU WILL WANT TO EAT DINNER WITHOUT THEM. You will also want them to stop asking how you are (“I’m sad, just like when you asked me yesterday!”). You’ll want to sit in front of Netflix with headphones and the volume way up so you don’t have to interact with people. You will be a not-very-nice person for an indeterminate amount of time. Know this. And maybe warn your family now.
4. FaceTime! Val and I have done this with Sunshine several times, and it’s the best. OK, it’s not the best—the best would be actually hanging out in person—but it’s a really good alternative. I recommend FaceTime-ing with a group to heighten the fun factor. (Jenn K, get ready…)
5. Spend time with your mutual friends. They’ll be missing her too, and can understand your sense of loneliness better than pretty much anyone else. They’ll also get the inside jokes you shared. It’s surprising how good all that feels. It also serves to remind you you’re still a likeable person even though your BFF obviously doesn’t think so and couldn’t wait to move Alaska-far away from you. Which brings me to #6…
6. You can lay on the guilt as much as you want, but it will serve no purpose except to make her resent you. She would stay if she could. Decisions aren’t easy, and this one was a bitch. Don’t make her feel worse. Or maybe don’t go out of your way to make her feel worse ALL THE TIME. ;)
7. Write stories about you and her and the adventures you go on together—your own personal fan-fic.
8. Wait, don’t do #7. That’s just weird and a little creepy. Maybe haiku.
9. Nope, not haiku. That’s creepier.
10. Not that haiku is creepy. I loves me some haiku. Now that I think about it, haiku might be pretty awesome. Fine, give it a try.
11. You will feel lonely, sad, frustrated, and even angry, and there’s really not much you can do about it, sooo… Find something to do with that energy. It can be something that’s good for you—gardening, exercising, making a new BFF out of papier-mâché—or good for your family—cleaning, cooking, learning mixed martial arts. I do not recommend that you put extra energy into anything that requires copious amounts of alcohol or food. I gained five pounds in the week after Sunshine left because my motto became “Only Krispy Kreme understands my pain.”
12. Remind yourself that everyone says it’ll get easier with time, because it will. You won’t forget your BFF, and you won’t stop missing her, but you’ll start settling into life without her and one day it simply doesn’t hurt quite so much.
13. Have a friend like Val, who is super-fun and will drink excessively and say all the potty words with you. Because sometimes you will need to drink excessively and say all the potty words, and when that happens, well, let me give you my number because whoever you are, I’d be delighted to be your Val.

I’ll close by saying that although Sunshine and I aren’t the friends we were when we lived nine houses apart, when we’ve hung out since her move to Arizona, it’s been easy to get back into that comfortable place we used to be. While I still miss having her in my life every day, I love how we don’t set expectations for each other as long-distance friends; we just are who we are, and it’s good. I kinda ♥ her tons. She’s a keeper.

I’m grateful to have lots of dear friends in my life, actually, both near and far. It’s a mutual effort, this friends thing, but the ones that are in it for the long haul will be always do what has to be done to be present in each other’s lives. This I know for sure. And I love it.

Aug. 14: Back, baby.

For a while there, my blog was dying a slow death. Blogging frequently is a habit that has to be developed, for sure, and my habit has gone in waves over the 15 years I’ve been writing—there are times I have so much to share that I can’t hit the “publish” button soon or often enough, and other times when most of what’s happening in my life is not write-about-able.

In the past several months I’ve opted to considerably filter my writing, which I’ve never been all that careful to do. I started journaling on paper again because putting my thoughts into words is so therapeutic for me—I realized I needed to get them down, whether anyone else could read them or not. And now, as I look back at the things I felt I couldn’t/shouldn’t share on my blog, I see that some weren’t really that big a deal anyway; I plan to write about those in coming weeks. Others were a big deal and still are, and those will stay in my journal for now.

It is not my intention to be all mysterioso and vague, so I’ll give you an idea of some of these things—though I think most of you already know.

• Now that I’m nearly four years post-treatment, I try to keep the cancer talk to a minimum here. When a person is told their cancer is in remission, it’s easy for an outsider to think of celebrating and being done with it—y’know, move on, next chapter. But it’s not that simple, because cancer doesn’t just end. Follow-up tests go on and on. Side effects linger. Fear and frustration are enemies that like to hang out on the fringe of everything I do. While I have welcomed the return to many of my pre-cancer ways of life, there are some things that have been forever changed by my experience, and I deal with them regularly. Some of it really sucks and because I don’t want it to suck, I try to fold those things in with the rest of life—because I am alive and I do know how fortunate I am for that and I am moving forward—but there are always challenges. You would tire of hearing about them as often as they come up—trust me on this. That’s why I don’t write about it often. But to the people who might think GEEZ, SHE’S STILL TALKING ABOUT CANCER???, I have a middle finger I’d like to show you. Maybe two. And I know other people who’d love to show you theirs too.
• A few years ago my relationship with a person who had always been—and I thought always would be—in my life came to an abrupt end. She made accusations, I tried to explain myself, and she said she refused to get in a pissing contest. I took that to mean there was no sense in me arguing (that is what that means, right?), so I backed off. She then decided I did this because I was angry, and now blames my anger as the reason we don’t speak. I find a tiny bit of comfort knowing that I am not the only person she’s done this to. But ugh—it’s like dealing with my grandma all over again: nothing is ever her fault. So, if this is such a big deal, why don’t I write more about it publicly? One, because it would annoy the hell out of whatever audience I have here. And two, because I feel an unreasonable duty to protect this person. I know it makes absolutely no sense, but there you have it. 
• I’ve occasionally mentioned that I deal with depression and anxiety. It’s surprising how many people still think these are not diseases but “moods” (oh, they are soooo not moods), and that they’re a choice, that it’s just a matter of deciding to be happy and deciding not to worry. Some of the people who think depression/anxiety = psychopath are people I love, and when they’re vocal about it, I take it personally. These illnesses are complex and un-fun to deal with, and it’s not exaggerating to say they affect EVERY part of one’s life. I am able to keep my head above water and am generally living a normal human existence, thanks to things and more things.
• Partly related to the above item, I have been trying to avoid blogging about whatever is inciting my latest rage or concern (though I will make exceptions for topics like, oh, OUR HEINOUS HOMEOWNERS’ ASSOCIATION). These triggers push me up on a soapbox that can get me in trouble or make me seem highly unlikable. That ain’t good. Worse, my triggers can send me into a funk from which I find great difficulty to recover. For instance, I’m not writing about Robin Williams, even though he’s been on my mind so much this week. I have thoughts, I do. They could be spread across several posts and I’d still have more. But for purposes of self-protection, I just can’t let myself dwell. (I do want to share, though, this beautifully composed sentence I read on a fashion site, of all places, immediately after the cause of Robin Williams’ death became public; I think it is such a realistic way to describe the tragedy of suicide: “There’s such agony in the fact that a person’s delivery of joy to everyone else can be so inversely proportionate to what they find in themselves.”) Sooo… rants? Only sometimes. 

Looking back to 1999, when I first started my blog, I remember thinking it would be a great way to keep family and friends up to date with our lives. It certainly has served that purpose well over the years, and I suppose that’s the biggest reason I can’t just chuck the whole thing. (Pssst: If you read Stuff Jen Says from 1999-now, really fast, it’s like a flip-book in which you can clearly see the route I took to bonkersville. Yaaaaaay.)

I also remember what a powerful tool my blog became while I was fighting cancer. I often wonder how else I would’ve felt such a strong sense of support and love—it really was an amazing thing to behold. That’s why, when I was diagnosed with cancer again in January, this was the first place I came to share the news. Many of you sent positive and  uplifting messages, and I felt ready to face the fight with a big ol’ army behind me. And THEN. Then I was incredibly embarrassed to pull it all back when, in March, my doctors decided that I didn’t have cancer after all. Happy news, yes, but humiliating to share. If it seems ridiculous that I would be embarrassed by such a thing, please just put yourself in my shoes; I felt like people would think I announced a recurrence just to get attention. (People do shit like that, y’know—I know someone who calls herself a “cancer survivor” because she once had a suspicious mole tested. It was benign, but BOY, does she like to act as though she knows what it’s like to have fought cancer.)

When it was time for getting re-tested for all the cancer stuff this summer, I shared with just a few people what was happening. Three weeks in June and July were spent in pretty much non-stop appointments and phone calls related to this testing. Now that they’re over, I feel okay to blog about the results, which are really quite simple in summary, and YES, SHE IS STILL TALKING ABOUT CANCER:

I had a PET scan mid-June and the same spots that lit up in January lit up again. It was scary and pissed us off. There were only slight changes in the size of the spots from the last PET, so that was good. They decided to do another needle biopsy (owie), which, just like the one in March, came back negative for cancer. Hooray! But don’t celebrate just yet… The radiologist wants to test again in six months because he thinks it’s very strange that these spots continue to act like cancer on scans. If they light up again, my oncologist says we’ll do an open biopsy, which is a surgical procedure. Pfffftt.

So we wait.

I hate the waiting. Waiting for these things is a trigger. My mind goes to dark places when there’s waiting. These places are deep and gloomy and it’s easy to get lost on the paths that lead to even more murkiness. Dark places are not fun or funny or light or silly or cheery or anything of the things I prefer in life. They’re dark. (And they’re places.)

I don’t think I should blog from the dark places. I really try not to.

Moving forward, my plan is to make blogging regularly a habit again. I would like my blog to do what it was originally created to do—keep our family and friends up-to-date with our lives. And yes, that means it won’t always be fun and happy, because life is not always fun and happy. But I have always tried my best to turn the dark stuff a teensy bit lighter. “We laugh to survive,” right?

And we avoid some topics to survive too.

May 2: Bye-bye, Little Miss Scout

Today was a rough one. We had our sweet beagle girl put to sleep. Scout was 14 years old and in recent months had lost a lot of weight and energy. In the past week she stopped eating and drinking. It was time.

Indulge me, please, and let a proud dog momma share some Sweet Baby Girl Scout stories and pictures (hover over the pics for caption goodness).

Before heading out to choose our puppy from the litter, I read that it was best to choose one that came to us right away. That was supposed to mean it was friendly, even though I was a complete stranger. The ones who stuck too close to Mom were supposedly less outgoing. The six puppies were released from their pen and spread out all over the yard. The one that would be Scout came straight over to me, yanked on my shoelace, and ran off. We’d found our girl.

We brought her home to Bailey, Daryl & Sally’s two-year-old beagle we were dog-sitting for the weekend. Scout promptly tried to nurse her. For the next two days, poor Bailey had to run from the little nipper—Scout just wouldn’t give up. Bailey was EXTRA oh-so-happy to see Daryl & Sally pick her up after their trip.

We lived in Vic’s weird little house when we first had Scout, and she spent her days in the laundry room, which housed the water heater. Scout got bored, and puppy + boredom = no more insulation on the water heater. What a mess. When a realtor walked through the house with us to prepare for its sale, I assured her we would replace the insulation. She said, “Don’t worry, I’ll just tell buyers you had a puppy.” Hm. Easy. (Unfortunately, that didn’t work on the shredded carpet.)

We visited our house frequently as it was being built. Puppy Scout left “trademarks” at several stages of progress. Marking her territory?

Jay’s comment on my Facebook post today reminded me of this one: we had my office Christmas party at our new house when Scout was about seven months old. Some people (look at me, not naming names!) thought it was funny to get her worked up so she would beagle-bark. The Christmas tree lights were hooked up to The Clapper, and Scout’s bark was so sharp and loud, she made the tree lights go on and off, on and off, over and over.

When we’d visit Vic’s parents in Seattle, Daryl & Sally were occasionally there at the same time. Even when D&S weren’t there, Scout would make a beeline to their guest room looking for Bailey. Poor Bailey never really did learn to love Scout—they had such a weird start; who could blame Bailey?

Scout was great with kids; playful but patient and sweet. Here’s my favorite picture of her. Katie was a couple days old, and Scout was just learning that her place in the House of Manullang might have (TOTALLY) changed. She adjusted just fine.

We’ve got tons of pictures of the kids playing with Scout. I especially love these.

Grandma Mary was one of Scout’s favorite family members. If Grandma was sitting down, Scout was next to her. If Grandma was laying down, Scout was curled against her body and content to sleep for hours.

At Christmastime, Scout’s favorite place was under the tree. I don’t know if it was because it was warm or because she just wanted to be with us at all times. Year after year, this was where she could be found if the tree was up.

She was a smart dog, but her hide-and-seek skills lacked a certain something.

Scout was such a tender comfort to me while going through chemo—feeling awful became feeling not-so-hot when her warm body was cuddled up to me, sometimes for an entire day. She was a perfect companion and the best napper EVER.

And oh, she was such a pretty girl.

   

This photo, taken almost four years ago, shows Scout at her chubbiest. Looking at this now, and remembering how she was so scarily thin and bony when we cuddled her as she took her last breaths today, it’s hard to believe it’s the same dog. Her health had declined so much. I don’t think Victor or I wanted to admit it for a long time, and now we both feel terrible that we prolonged her suffering for our own selfishness. Honestly, though, it was only in the last few days that she really seemed to be having discomfort—she moved very little, wouldn’t eat or drink, had trouble getting up the stairs. She went downhill very quickly. But even yesterday, she walked around the house until she found me in my office and curled up under my chair. Scout was a social girl until the very end.

And this is how I’d like to remember our dear Little Miss Scout—silly, photogenic, sweet, gentle, funny, and adorable.

My sister’s Facebook status today was such a nice sentiment:

I once heard that our dogs have souls. And very often those souls are reborn into another dog - and we get them back. I so hope my little niece, Scout, comes back soon.

I love that idea so, so much.

 

Sep. 24: Sucky news that sucks and sucks

Just as I was finishing up my IDCEAYWTPFriday post this morning, my oncologist’s office called to give me my next few appointment dates. I knew about the one on Oct. 12; the other doctor in the practice who saw me before my chemo last month told me the treatment on Oct. 12 would be my last. Apparently he assumed it was my last because it was the last one Dr. O had put in the system; however, that was incorrect.

Dr. O has scheduled me for treatments on Oct. 12 and Nov. 2 before I have a PET/CT scan on Nov. 16, and then two more treatments, the last one being on Dec. 14.

FOUR MORE TREATMENTS? WTF? This news was so disappointing. I’m more exhausted than usual and feel completely beat down since that phone call. The thing is, this was very likely the plan all along; there have been no tests run that would indicate a need to continue chemotherapy any longer than Dr. O originally prescribed. I think I was simply given incorrect info from the other doctor, and I had been hanging on his words because I liked the way they sounded: “you’re almost done!”

Sure, I can find a bright side to it, but please excuse me if I don’t do it right now. I’m angry and frustrated and so unbelievably tired of fighting cancer. By the time I have my last (“last”—we’ll see!) treatment on Dec. 14, it will have been more than an entire year of being on chemotherapy. I’m so done. I’m so not happy about this.

Give me some time, and I’ll find a way to joke about four more treatments. It may take a while, though; I’m still pretty grouchy about it. I went out with the girls tonight, and that definitely helped. I love my girls.

Baby steps.

Aug. 30: Daybook

Today…

Outside my window... the weather is cooler today than it’s been in a long time. I’m loving it. Very pleasant. We might even get rain, which will be great for the yard but exactly what my car doesn’t need—unless it’s a LOT of rain, and who wants that today? Not me.

I am thinking... that this week is going to be better than the last few. I want it to be. Desperately. It will be, right?

I am thankful for... safe travels for friends and family. Sunshine and Cindi are home from their trips, and Katie had an uneventful flight by herself to Denver on Saturday.

I’m also thankful for the new frozen yogurt place nearby—Divine. It is, well, DIVINE. The other day I got a lemon cheesecake mix, and yesterday—at their grand opening where there was very little that was GRAND because where’s our free stuff, dammit?—I had fruit punch sorbet. Best part: sittin’ by my Val.

I am creating... the new PTO web site. It’s taking forever because I have a picture of it in my mind and it has to match that picture perfectly or I’ll cut someone. A couple very cool things so far: I found an online calendar system that embeds onto one of the pages, and I think the form for collecting directory info is a winner too. The new mailing list service I’m using (on Deanna’s recommendation, THANK YOU DEANNA YOU ARE LOVELY EVEN THOUGH IT HAS A MONKEY) is the most amazing thing EVER. It’s called Mail Chimp, and if you have a mailing list and you’re not using Mail Chimp you are a ginormous loser, my friend. Here’s how good it is: I hate chimpanzees and there’s one on every page but I still love this service. (I know, right?)

I am going... to the doctor (my super-dude rheumatologist) this morning. Gotta figure out how to manage my joint pain now that I’m not on the potent steroids. Also, my left hand is still totally wonky. Also, I want a new drug.

(I don’t really want a new drug. I was just thinking of Huey Lewis and I cracked myself up.)

(I’m an idiot.)

(I’m an idiot, but I know that I’m the only one laughing, so don’t cry for me, Argentina.)

(There I go again.)

(These parentheticals are downright Kim F’n-like!)

(If you’re her Facebook friend, you know of what I speak.)

(Not so much “speak,” though, as “write.”)

(Or, to be even more accurate, “type.”)

Still reading? NOW who’s the idiot???

I am hoping... to keep hearing good news about Loveliest Lori. I sure do miss that girl. Having one of your favorite people in ICU and without her Blackberry for more than a week really, really sucks. The rumbly in my tumbly when I think about her is not from hunger; it’s from nerves and I feel like I’m gonna hurl, often. I know you wanted to know that.

For reals, that’s all I want right now: good news about Loveliest Lori.

I am hearing... the silence of my text message alert way too much today… I need info, people!

I’m also hearing the puppy tear around the house, and the other dogs letting him know how much he irritates them with his energy and youth. We, on the other hand, are loving this little guy. He’s a cuddly, sweet boy.

Around the house... it seems so quiet without Katie. I know she’s having a blast with my sister in Colorado, so I’m very excited for the adventure she’s on. We miss her, though. We miss our child who does not need to be reminded to brush her teeth or get dressed or feed the dogs or close the door behind her. Good thing Jack makes us laugh, or we’d drive him out to the country and leave him to be raised by one-toothed folk.

One of my favorite things... does not include the puppy surprise-French-kissing me after he’s given his nethers a good cleaning. Not my favorite thing at all.

A few plans for the rest of the week: Chemo tomorrow, football practices for Jack, a welcome back lunch at the school, other PTO doodies, a trip to Salem when (if) I’m allowed to see Lori, and Katie coming home Saturday evening.

Here is picture for thought I am sharing...

I love the name of this boat!

---

Want to blog your own Daybook? Here’s the info: The Simple Woman’s Daybook.

Aug. 26: Hee haw

The rottenness of the past couple weeks continues, but as always, there are things here and there that make me smile—and sometimes, even laugh. I’m very thankful for those things, especially when they’re people. Ye know who ye be.

The Bloggess, one of my favorite bloggers, has also been having a rough go lately. (I just started to type out why, and it got me so bummed out, I couldn’t keep going. Just read the past several posts on her blog to find out, mmmkay? Thanks. Oh, and prepare to be totally bummed out like me. You’re welcome.) She appended her last post—about an unfortunate UPS delivery—with a reader comment that I absolutely LOVE:

This is what I like to do (besides black tar heroin) — Halloween time I buy one of those fake UPS or FedEx costumes and when either guy brings me a package I open the door in a rush and go “thanks I’ll take it from here!” and slam the door.  Will also get you a free pizza if you stock up on pizza company costumes. ~ Chris Illuminati

I’m off to find another distraction from the suckiness.

Jul. 29: Life in the dark place

There are times when I read about someone dying too young, and I lose all hope. Within seconds I am in that dark place. You know the place. It’s where my cancer has won and I’m gone. My blog goes un-updated. My Facebook status sits at something insignificant. The library books I have on hold come in, but no one picks them up and the library sends that snotty-sounding automated email to say they’ve been released and given to someone else—a message that goes unread, of course, because I forgot to show Victor how to check that email account. It’s where my dogs wander around the house looking for me and my kids grow up without their mom.

It doesn’t matter how much the oncologist says, “If you have to have cancer, this is the one to have; it’s got the best cure rate,” because in the dark place, all I can think about is lymphoma’s recurrence rate (it doesn’t seem all that low to me). In the dark place, I question the whole treatment process because it’s so much pain and expense when I’m going to die anyway. I make a note to remind a lot of different people that I want to be cremated with a hat on so I won’t be bald if/when I’m ever resurrected. And then I make a note to tell them to stop laughing, I do too still have a chance at eternal life, and just for that, I’m going to spend it making them sorry they ever laughed at me. If they’ve seen zombie movies, they know to be afraid.

I don’t like the dark place. I try not to go there. It feels like I’m having a pity party for myself, and I hate the idea of “why me?” Because, y’know, why not me? Cancer isn’t choosy. It picks good people and bad people with reckless abandon. (Please do not tell me in which of those categories you think I fit.)

Sometimes the only thing that can bring me out of that dark place is the idea of Vic rolling around in the life insurance money he’ll eventually get. But most often, it’s just time that eases me back out. And it’s weird, because when I do get out it’s not even a halfway-out kind of thing; I’m all the way out and suddenly the happiest person in the world. I am energized by my friends’ kindness, new blossoms in the flowerbed, the quotes Brenda and Tony post on Facebook, the sun gleaming in the blue sky, a good cup of coffee. It takes the simplest of life’s good things to make me feel lucky to be alive, to realize how good I still have it.

And I do have it good. I have the best of friends, a loving family, and yummy ice cream in the freezer. To expect more out of life would be greedy, right? So I carry on, enjoying being alive and hoping that when I end up in the dark place again, I won’t be there long.

Nov. 4: An open letter to my back

Dear Spine o’ Mine:

Why you gotta be so mean?

Alright, I know I’ve taken some good spills this year, and I know they’ve hurt you. How many times do I need to apologize for that? I didn’t fall on purpose! I walked around with a big, black bruise on my chin for a month—you think you were hurt worse than my pride was? And two weeks later, when I had another great fall, I nearly lost an eye and was FrankenJen for weeks afterward. Don’t you think that if I was trying to hurt YOU that I wouldn’t have hurt myself in other visible places?

But besides that, have I really punished you that much over the years? You’ve obviously forgotten about the time I gave up ever being able to do a cartwheel—I was young and you were bendier then, but STILL I didn’t push you, and I have never in my life done a real cartwheel without four spotters. Wasn’t that nice of me, to take you into consideration?

You might remember that my gymnastics training ended at a young age. Maybe my mom saw the futility of gymnastics ever helping me to develop gracefulness and poise, or maybe my instructor kicked me out of class for being an embarrassment. But shouldn’t you be kinda grateful, Spine o’ Mine, that the most gymnastic maneuver I ever mastered is the somersault? And I hardly ever even do one! I ask so little of you.

I have good posture.

I always bend at the knees because I know this alleviates stress on you.

I rarely walk like an Egyptian.

I never run down the stairs. It’s bad for you. Taking the stairs slowly and without excessive stomping also decreases the velocity at which I’ll tumble down them, because I always, always tumble down them. But that’s beside the point. I try to take it easy on you—that’s what I’m saying.

And I bought you that incredibly expensive and fancy mattress this year. BECAUSE I CARE. But have you let me sleep on it? No.

I’ve never been big on much exercise, but I do walk a lot, and I always wear super supportive shoes for you. Okay, they may not always be supportive, but I can promise that they’re always the cutest thing you ever did see. I like cute shoes. Sometimes fashion has to hurt, you know that.

Speaking of doing things just for looks—and let’s just forget the shoes for a minute, please—I’ve never pierced you or anything near you. Never tattooed you either. I keep you shielded from excessive sun exposure.  I got you that spray tan last year and you looked damn good. What else can I do to show you that I care?

I’ve gotten you re-aligned, massaged, x-rayed, and adjusted. I regularly heat you and soak you in warm water.

But now you never stop hurting. You won’t let me lie on my back or sides for more than ten seconds before I jump up in terrible pain. Sometimes you spasm all day long. Even sitting up, which is the only way I can relax anymore—if you can call that “relaxing” (I don’t)—you hurt me. You laugh at ibuprofen—I swear I can hear you. If I sweep or mop the floor, you put me in excruciating pain for hours. It hurts after I try to do all kinds of things around the house—laundry, clean the bathroom, pull weeds, wash the car, or pick up crap the kids leave around the house. Blogging takes hours now, since I can’t sit for more than a few minutes at a time. The dogs hate that I never lay down because they have no one with which to cuddle. Victor has to do pretty much all of the household chores. The kids think I’m always always always grouchy (I am). Trying to get through a day without angering you has everyone in the house on edge. All the inactivity is making me fatter too.

I suspect you’ve given up on me, Spine o’ Mine, and I’d really like to know why—but if you won’t give me an answer, I don’t care, AS LONG AS YOU STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE.

Pretty please?

Love,

Oct. 24: Things that bum me right out

What a rotten week. Seriously.

My friend Sherilee posts a Friday Night Grateful Moment on her blog every week, and it’s always inspiring and reminds me to appreciate the good things in my life. And I do appreciate them, I do. It’s just that the really sucky parts of this week are what stand out most right now. Sorry, Sher—I know you try to bring some beauty into the world, and then I muck it all up with my grouchy, complain-y posts.

• Many people from school are sick right now, so we PTO babes decided to cancel tonight’s Movie Night in the gym. Katie and Jack are disappointed, and promising to reschedule doesn’t make it any better. We might have to try to make it up to them by doing movie night at the theater—which will undoubtedly end up being ridiculously expensive and ultimately not really make everything all better because tomorrow they’ll still be talking about how sad it is that Movie Night was cancelled.
• Almost everyone who had committed to help with the book fair setup yesterday had to cancel due to illness. The people who did show up worked extra-hard, and the Scholastic rep was shocked we got done in an hour so I guess we kicked ass at book fair setup. However, I lifted a lot of boxes and later realized I shouldn’t have…
• … because I spent most of the night walking around the family room whining and cursing at my back pain. It certainly doesn’t take much to make it unbearable nowadays. I’m tellin’ ya, the spine-ectomy is totally happening.
• The Spy Who Loved Me is on the Bravo network right now. Katie saw the title and said, “That reminds me of The Spy Who Shoved Me,” which is an episode of The Suite Life of Zack & Cody or Suite Life on Deck or one of those Disney Channel shows. I love when current TV shows parody old stuff. I do not love that my kids don’t get it.
• Which reminds me, there are so many shows that parody The Flintstones, Gilligan’s Island, The Brady Bunch… and my kids don’t catch the hilarity of it. And I have to explain what the show is making fun of, and it makes me sound like a big fat moron because you can’t quite convey the COOLNESS of those shows when you describe them to kids of this generation. Those shows weren’t really as stupid as I make them sound, were they? I don’t think I want to hear the answer. I can’t handle the truth. Pffft.
• I didn’t write about this as it was happening (you’re welcome), but the other night I woke up nauseous and couldn’t keep food down for 24 hours. It was sooo not cool. I wasn’t running a fever or sick in any other way, so I’m guessing all the ibuprofen I’ve needed finally ate through my stomach lining. Or it might have been food poisoning. Either way, it was not one of my grateful-est moments of the week. Saltines became my best friend and I’m still taking it easy food-wise. Yesterday afternoon I thought I was feeling flu-ish but this morning I’m okay, THANK BUDDHA.
• Since I was still woozy Thursday evening, we opted not to go out to August: Osage County. Dang.

OK, fine; not everything sucked.

• I finalized the menu and delegated duties for the conference dinner on Thursday. And I found that cute little dessert—which I’m doing a trial run of this weekend; I’ll let you know the outcome—and made decisions about decor, etc. I’m looking forward to it.
• It’s shocking, but it’s true: I remembered to wear a bra to the PTO meeting this week. Yay me.
• I was able to give away our August: Osage County tickets on Facebook. A friend jumped at the offer, and he said the show was excellent. Although I wish I’d been able to see it for myself, I’m glad the tickets didn’t go to waste.
• This afternoon we’re going to Darlene and Wellington’s for lunch. Darlene’s making cottage cheese loaf. I loooove cottage cheese loaf. I hope I can work up an appetite between now and then—maybe when I catch a whiff of it, I’ll feel ready to dive right in. Yum.
• Our big PTO fundraiser ended yesterday. Next week we’ll see how we did. Cross your fingers, please.
• Prizes for selling fundraiser items were cute little necklaces. We grown-ups wore a few at school every day to show how cool they were and encourage the kids to sell a lot of stuff to get some necklaces for themselves. Jack added the necklaces I wore all week to those he rightfully earned, and went around this morning looking like a mini-BeeGee—if a BeeGee wore Star Wars jammie pants and didn’t know how to make proper gang gestures.
  
  
  This is one funny little dude.
• There was much fun to be had on Facebook this week—my friends make me LOL. Katie and Jack are always saying, “What? What’s so funny?” when I get on Facebook, but most of the stuff that makes me LOL is stuff I don’t really want them to see, so I try to LOTI.
• Thank you to all who comment on my blog posts. I love comments, and there were some doozies this week. I don’t reply very often because you’re all so witty and charming, I don’t want to take away from that with more of my own blather. Just know that I appreciate you very, very much.